What I See
by noddwyd
Summary: Harry's sixth year has taken a turn for the worse, but something distracts him about his visit to the Room of Lost Things, he investigates with bizarre results


disclaimer: Harry Potter is not owned by me, this is for fun, not profit.  
an: a strange little thing that takes place late in HBP. A definite change in the timeline/universe, but not a crossover, which makes this unique among the other entries for this tale. I like it though.

The Mirror

"Bedydd at Danio"

Harry never thought his search would lead him back here, to a place where so many people had hidden things they wanted to forget about or hide forever, and the laws of the Room of Requirement made it so he had to first have a genuine need to hide an object to reach this variation of the room again. So here he was finally back again and pilfering through all this filth and not to mention the many dangerous objects and the strong smell of sherry, for something, anything that someone may have hidden out of fear or disgust that could help him defeat Voldemort. Ever since he had first entered the room to hide his copy of Advanced Potionmaking from Snape, something about it had been tickling the back of his mind, something he had overlooked in his frantic state of mind. Something familiar.

Suddenly it jumped out at him. There on the back wall, was a familiar shape, though covered with a torn tapestry and tied off with ropes, the shape was the same, it was a mirror, the same size and general shape as the Mirror of Erised. Not understanding how it could be the same mirror, unless this is where Dumbledore had hidden it from him, he went over to investigate, removing the rope and pulling away the tapestry carefully. It read:

"Eest Onna Csey Eruo Ytahw Wohsi"

"Okay, so not the same mirror." he mumbled, and then his eyes fell to his reflection. Unfortunately his screams went unheard in the room, which was dedicated to concealment of itself and its contents.

Harry awoke two hours later in the room, unfortunately what he was seeing hadn't changed. It was so disorienting, being so blindingly aware of everything around him. It felt like his brain was on overdrive trying to keep up. He could understand why the mirror was considered too dangerous and chucked in here. He could see every little detail of every speck of dust floating around in here, and he even found himself counting how many thousands of eye cells he had collecting light and had to stop himself.

Somehow the mirror had altered his perception of reality. Because now he was also seeing drifting rivers of what he felt certain was magic circling the room in a determined flow between the various magical substances littering the place. He noticed how many of the objects seemed to be connected to other objects as if by ownership, and he thought that maybe by touching that thread he could do something. So he tried it.

As soon as he touched the thread connecting a bloodied axe with a rather vile looking potion the two suddenly flew across the room and collided in an impressively bright flash of magic.

What emerged was something Harry would have thought totally impossible were he not witnessing it. The potion appeared to have totally vanished, vial and all, and the Axe was now even more wicked looking with the head coated black and a long spike coming out of the back of the blade. And what was more, it seemed to be eminating menace as if it were staring him down, trying to scare him. Realizing this was his own accidental creation, and he had to deal with it, he couldn't leave it here for some unsuspecting student up to their innocent mischeif to find this. So he started to reach for it, when he heard a voice.

"You have given me life, Threadmaster, but you have not proven yourself worthy of my help. No one but who I choose shall wield me henceforth."

"Ah." Said Harry, aptly. He couldn't believe that this was happening, a dumb old axe talking back to him. It couldn't have talked a minute ago. But was it grateful, noooo.

And what was that it called me, 'threadmaster'? What in the world was that? He'd never heard of it.

"And what type of person would you choose?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"An executioner, or one who kills for righteous wrath and justice."

"I see. I happen to be someone who will have to kill for both justice and to stop the person and his followers from acting out more atrocities."

There was a pause before the...axe...answered.

"I see. You do speak the truth, and yet I instinctively sense that I am not for you. Leave me to my solitude, only the one worthy of me will be able to find me here.  
Seeing there was no room for argument, Harry silently agreed, and moved his focus elsewhere.

There were many other so called 'thread' connections criss-crossing the room like spider's webs. Some of which clearly connected to two or more distinct objects, some of which had threads which dissappeared into walls or cabinets and wardrobes, seemingly connected to unseen or distant objects, or, dare he think it, people?

Most of the effects of the mirror had faded by now, and he had covered the mirror again, but the threads remained. Had the mirror somehow activated a dormant ability within himself? Was this somehow connected with the prophecy? No, he told himself. Dumbledore was right, I can't put too much onto the prophecy. This will undoubtedly be helpful though, If I can do more of what just happened.

Harry suddenly noticed a darker thread hovering over his head, no wait, it was coming directly from his...scar. It was a deep black in color, which may explain why he didn't notice it right away, and it was leading to...the wardrobe where he'd originally hidden his Half-Blood Prince book. Actually to the tiara that sat askew on the head of an old cracked bust of a wizard. What the hell kind of connection could he, or his scar, have to an old and tarnished tiara?

He reached for the dark thread and pulled, unsure of what would happen. Soon after he heard two tiny screams, and felt a huge weight he'd never appreciated until now, lift from him. Nothing else seemed to happen at first, as it had before, but then, the tiara levitated into the air, and he saw a glowing image in the shape of his scar appear on the front of it, then solidify into a golden marking. The tiara fell into his hand, no comments forthcoming, like with the axe. Harry placed it into his bag and moved on, unsure as to what had just happened. 


End file.
